


Edges of a Broken Glass

by caffeinatedletters



Category: EXO, EXO (Band)
Genre: Action, Angst, Blood, Depression, Drama, Drama & Romance, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 13:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10413702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatedletters/pseuds/caffeinatedletters
Summary: Nothing changes a man drastically more than a lust for revenge.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ok so I've disappeared for what feels like centuries, but I have returned with another kaisoo fic after facing a huge writer's block. This has been in my drafts since june of last year, and because I couldn't quite figure out how I wanted everything to turn out, I decided to take my time in writing it. This one feels like my first fic again, so I'm a little nervous, but I hope you guys would enjoy reading. It isn't much despite it being almost a year in the making, so please don't expect too much.
> 
> TW: minor character death, slight gore, mentions of depression, self-harm, and lots of blood
> 
> (cross post from asianfanfics)

[aff mirror](http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1235046/edges-of-a-broken-glass-angst-drama-romance-jongin-kyungsoo-kaisoo) | [lj mirror](http://taakenoiodahara.livejournal.com/18997.html)

"When you're older and braver, come find me."

The words are like a broken record playing on repeat in his head, making his blood boil and hands ball into fists. The face of the man had been engraved in his mind for years like a tattoo, taunting him every single day of his life and it's unfortunate that he's still unable to avenge everyone.

Being the youngest and only son of the Kim family, Jongin grew up in a humble home, doted on by his loving parents and two older sisters. His childhood was normal and bright, like any other kid's would - rolling around in dirt, rotting his teeth with candies. It was fun, and Jongin was evidently a happy child. But it all comes crashing down after some men in shiny, black suit invade their house, seizing everyone and tying them up, ultimately traumatizing a 7-year old kid.

He remembers his mother's tear stricken face as she pleads them not to hurt them, the terror in his sisters' faces and his father's shaking form. He remembers himself flinch when a man punches his father and orders his mother to shut up before he slaps her. A man holds him by the hair, forcing him to keep his eyes forward and despite his confusion and fear, he kept his gaze on the people he loves, unable to do anything else.

There were a lot of screaming, a lot of struggling and a lot of tears before he hears a shot that seemed to echo in the room, followed by three more. It was loud, deafening that sends his ears ringing. The amount of red he saw was enough to send him screaming and crying in terror as his family's lifeless eyes stared back at him, bodies covered in their own blood. His body shook in horror, unable to tear his eyes away from the gruesome scene. He hears one of the men in a black suit speak so close to his ears, leaving behind a sentence that will haunt him for years.

He had flinched then, scrambling to back himself away and put as much distance between them as possible. The door slams behind them as they left with a smirk and a proud look on their faces, leaving Jongin behind, covered in his family's blood until the police came to his rescue. They had gasped at the scene and softens when they see the kid shaking in the corner of the room, blood on his face and clothes. It was when a woman takes a step towards him that he finally lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Jongin's favourite uncle from his father's side was unmarried, and was the one who took him in. He had ultimately stopped talking after the accident, goes hysterical when someone as much as tries to touch him, locking himself in his room without food and water. The nightmares were absolutely horrible that he had resulted to hurting himself to rid of the memories, to the point of him being suicidal. It took two years before Jongin's recovered from the trauma, but it took him a few more months before he's deemed a functional human being again. He was fifteen when he asked his uncle to teach him how to fight and handle a gun, with self-defense as his excuse. With a lot of begging, his uncle relents and he's trained how to fight and was taught how to aim and fire.

The sound of the gun fire at first was too much, images of the past flashing in front of him like a film with each shot. His uncle gives him some earplugs to muffle out the sound and soon his shaking had stopped. Over time they both saw how good he really was with guns and pretty soon he was able to handle any kind of rifles, shoots like the weapon is an extension of himself. His uncle forbids him to use it outside his supervision though, his gut telling him that the young lad's weird passion for them was fueled by anger and vengeance. The older male is worried for his nephew, especially after seeing the way the young one looks when he holds the said weapon.

Jongin was seventeen when he had his first job. It was a kind of experiment, he hears, but he didn't bat an eye when he's instructed to shoot and he did. It was quick and clean, like how the group wanted it to be, and despite the good pay he was given it had earned him a hard slap on the cheek from his uncle. The feeling of adrenaline pumping through his veins never left his mind, though, and he often imagine the hateful face engraved in his memories to be at the opposite end of the barrel. It was the only thing that fueled him to go on and continue what he had started, thoughts of avenging his family's death giving him the drive he needed to continue living.

High school went by like a blur, but at least he was able to make his uncle proud for finishing school. He was nineteen when something in him clicks and he's out of their house the very next day, bringing with him nothing but every single piece of his uncle's small rifle collection, cutting all kinds of connection in hopes it would protect them if things turn for the worse. He became a lot of things to survive independently - a store clerk, a waiter, and most recently, barista. He was still hired to kill important people and because the pay was good and puts food in his stomach he accepts it all, and two years later, now in his prime age of twenty-one, he's out on a mission every night almost as much as he's handing out coffee every morning. He keeps his eye open for any kind of information though, anything that will get him closer to his real target.

Nothing changes a man drastically more than a lust for revenge.

===============

"Iced americano, please."

The customer was a regular and had always ordered the same thing that Jongin had already memorized the way the man wants his coffee. One shot of sugar and cream with very few ice. He served it with a smile, the kind that he had grown accustomed to showing to every other customer over time. It wasn't sincere nor was it fake, but more of a necessity.

"One iced americano," he says and hands over the coffee. "Enjoy! Thank you and come visit us again soon," the words come out monotonously, like it had gone dull with how much it's been used. Nonetheless the cutsomer gives him a grateful smile before he heads to his usual table - the one at the very back of the shop, right next to the window. He'd be there for an hour before he exits the place, probably to his work place.

Jongin would be lying if he said the man didn't intrigue him in the least. What with the man looking so good in his pristine suit, his hair coiffed neatly to the left, showing his pretty forehead and handsome face. The man had a set of wide eyes and full lips, albeit few feet shorter than him, but his presence much bigger than his physique. He was obviously quiet too, or that's probably just because there's no one there to talk, but his voice is soothing, almost as smooth as the lattes they make in the shop. The thought of finally talking to the man had come to mind a number of times, but he refuses to give in to his curiosities.

The consequences of deciding to be a freelance hitman are clear to him the moment he decided to go through with it. He already knows better than to get involved with anyone and so he keeps a very low profile, gives people a false name and address just in case and goes through a hundred detours on his way home. Asking someone their name for no particular reason goes against a lot of his self-established rules, so he settles with keeping his distance and admiring the handsome doe eyed man from afar. He doesn't mind, really. Beautiful things are meant to be admired quietly, right?

So Jongin stands there in his spot by the counter, sending sutble glances in the mysterious man's direction for a few moments before he averts his gaze, only to do it again the next day, and then the next. He doesn't have to stare, convinces himself that he doesn't need to memorize the man's features (even if he already has it memorized).

Strangers to strangers, that's all they will ever be. That's all they should be.

But clearly, fate had other plans for him. If it's for the best or not though, he's not quite sure yet. He wasn't sure either how it all happened, or how he had let himself do it, but it had started with a simple hello, something that had supposed stayed in his head but was said out loud instead. It had then lead to a short conversation, and soon they're turned from simple strangers to strangers who knew each other's names. It was supposed to be wrong for it goes against every single limit he had set for himself, but it doesn't feel as wrong as he makes it all out to be. It feels nice even, to be able to call him Kyungsoo, loving the way the name rolls off his tongue. He likes the way he calls him Kai, and he can only imagine how good it will be to hear him say his real name. He knows it's wrong and he knows he shouldn't let it continue further than it already has, but Kyungsoo is addicting, and Jongin is drawn to him like a moth to a flickering flame.

Jongin realizes how nice it feels to have someone to call as a friend...

...but it's nicer to know who Kyungsoo is.

"I've always thought you were a snob prick," Kyungsoo says over a cup of coffee one day. It was already dark outside, the window a little foggy with the start of winter making the air colder than usual. Jongin shouldn't be here, should have bolted out of the place, but it was hard to resist a warm heart shaped smile. He finds himself sitting across Kyungsoo, his back straight and his hands fidling with his own fingers on the table. He looks up at Kyungsoo at the statement and lets out a soft chuckle.

"I get that a lot," he smiles.

Oh, the irony.

He wanted to answer with the truth, that looking like a snob was a part if his facade. It keeps people away, helps him isolate himself without any hassle and extra effort. Unfortunately it doesn't work on Kyungsoo, it seems, and at this point he's positive that he really doesn't mind (even if he knows he should).

===============

The club is loud and dark save for the beams of light that's splattered over people's bodies grinding against each other to the beat of the music on the dance floor. It was a peculiar place to meet a client, but he's not one to question such things. His client had reserved a booth for them at the back of the club, away from all the noise and into a much lighter part of the place, and for that he's grateful to be saved from the pounding headache all that bass would surely bring.

"Kai," it wasn't a question, but more of a recognition. Jongin nods in confirmation, adjusts his sunglasses and slides into the chair across from the man, swallowing the memories that threatens to resurface at the sight of a man in a pristine suit and the outline of a gun snug in the man's waistband. A single photo is slid across the table towards him and Jongin wastes no time in memorizing his new target.

There were no other information except more photos of the said target in different angles and situations. Jongin doesn't need a name or an age. So long as the client needs someone dead, then the job is done. The corners of his lips twitches into a frown but he catches himself before it does, disappointed that his target is still isn't the man that plagues his memories. His hand twitches once before he looks back up at his client, nodding once. Jongin works silently, talking only when absolutely necessary, doesn't ask questions unless he really needs to. The clients don't usually mind so long as he gets the job right, and he does.

There wasn't a moment wasted, his weapon set up at the top of a building nearest to where the target is. The clock ticks slowly against his pulse where his watch clings to his wrist. His target seem to be hosting a party, if the smiles and laughters unfolding like a silent movie through his view finder is any indication. Jongin adjusts his rifle, his finger resting calmly by the trigger as he waits for the perfect chance. He counts slowly in his head in time with his target's steps towards a chair.

One

Two

Three

There's a dull thud that rings in his ear, although it's muffled out by his earmuffs. The body in his line of sight falls to the ground, a speck of maroon by his chest, just where his heart is blooms like a flower - red and beautiful. By the time the crowd registers what had happened Jongin had already left his post, made a call and the promised 6-figured amount left in his account under a fake name as well as additional information for his hunted man. The deed is done and as Jongin makes his way back to his place, a feeling of disgust creeps into his skin, seeps into his very core and settles by his chest. It doesn't make him sick, it had stopped doing so years ago, but an image of doe eyes and heart shaped lips makes him open the door with shaky hands, stumbling in his own two feet until he's left in a heap of staggering breaths on the floor.

Jongin sees nothing but blood - on his gun, on his hands, dripping towards a growing puddle of red around him on the floor. What makes him scream is an array of hateful red that covered Kyungsoo's body, lifeless eyes staring back at him like his parents' did that fateful night. His body breaks into a cold sweat, fear settling at the bottom of his stomach that makes him sick, the kind that happens when you finally realize the dangers you so wanted to avoid had finally caught up with you. His phone's vibrating is what breaks him out of his mental torture, but Kyungsoo's name that flashes on his phone's screen only makes him feel worse.

He shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have introduced himself, shouldn't have given him his number.

Knowing Jongin only meant danger.

And he fears he had brought that danger to Kyungsoo.

_Have a good night, Kai_

Jongin sleeps fitfully that evening.

===============

This wasn't exactly the ideal future he had for himself nor was it the kind his parents would have wanted for him. But things happen for a reason even when we don't know what they are most of the time. Jongin didn't know why his family had to be murdered so brutally in front of him, didn't know why that cruel man decided to let him live, but after that tragedy he had been set on getting his revenge, did everything in his power to prepare himself. He was ready to do anything to find the man who took everything from him, wasn't afraid to go through any lengths just to get his revenge because he literally got nothing else to lose.

But then he meets someone who holds the stars in his eyes and the world on his lips and suddenly things seem to get better with each moment spent with him. Days are now more than a routine, his nights filled with promises of sweet dreams. Jongin breathes a little better, the hole in his chest slowly disappearing and replaced with the gentlest touch and the most tender kisses.

He feels alive.

For the first time in years, Jongin feels alive.

But he dies a little more inside on nights he pulls the trigger, blood continue to stain his hands - the same hands that holds Kyungsoo close. The other male doesn't know about Jongin's secret and he plans for things to stay that way. He doesn't want Kyungsoo to know, doesn't want the other to look at him with pity or fear. He knows that Kyungsoo deserved so much better - can do so much better than him - but this time Jongin wants to be selfish. He doesn't want anyone else to take something he considers to be the most important thing in his life, is adamant to keep the only light in his life, his only hope in this cruel world.

Jongin had already thought of leaving, of taking all his belongings and run away from everything, take a chance of a fresh start but Kyungsoo's hold keeps him grounded, makes him believe that things will eventually turn out for the better. The thoughts leave the next day, but at that exact moment, as he holds Kyungsoo close to his chest with tangled limbs under the duvet, their lips touching, he allows himself to forget the bad things in his life, allows himself to believe the lie that things are really okay, allows himself a moment of peace and contentment.

Jongin leaves the room even before the sun is up, moving so slowly as to not wake Kyungsoo up. He puts on his shirt, his jeans and his shoes, shuffling his way to the door when he hears the other male speak. "Will my little Robin come back tonight?" Kyungsoo asks, his voice rough with sleep. Jongin doesn't look back but allows a smile to grace his lips at the nickname, thinking how well it suited him in more ways than one. It was supposed to be Kyungsoo's favourite type of bird, the kind that knocks on windowpanes every morning and leaves right after a short greeting - much like Jongin - but Jongin can't see anything but the thief in those children's books.

A moment passed before Jongin spoke again. "Leave your window open," and he was out the door without another word. It's three days after that he returns, when the imaginary blood in his hands and lifeless eyes comes back to haunt him. It's a vicious cycle, but Kyungsoo feels and smells like home and Jongin thinks he doesn't mind it all as much as he thought he would.

As long as Kyungsoo's there, he doesn't mind.

But it doesn't stop his heart from beating out of his chest when he wakes up one morning to find the sun already high in the sky, Kyungsoo's face hovering over his with a phone in his hand (and he thinks he heard a faint sound of camera's shutter clicking).

"W-what are you doing?" he asked, his voice shaky from panic as he frantically looked around for his clothes, ignoring the confused look on Kyungsoo's face. He couldn't be sure, but he could hear him faintly apologize, probably unsure what wrong he had done, but Jongin had already been out of the room, mumbling about how he shouldn't be there and reprimanding himself for letting himself do such a thing. He misses the hurt look in Kyungsoo's eyes, but he thinks it's better this way.

The world he lives in has way too many eyes around for him to let his guard down for a second. One wrong move could mean Kyungsoo's life.

And he'd be damned to even _think_ to let that happen.

===============

It was rare for Jongin to receive mail. What with all the different addresses he had registered to deliver all his bills to, he knew the manila envelope sitting in front of his door was nothing but trouble. This only meant the place he's staying at is no longer safe. It was time for him to move again. But nothing could have prepared him from the envelope's contents.

Jongin's hand shook so hard that the papers fell to the ground, scattering everywhere on the floor. It made him feel sick, felt regretful and downright angry at himself. He could have prevented this from happening, could have hidden his identity better.

A strangled scream rips its way out of his mouth as his knees buckled underneath him, all pent up emotion wrecking its way out of him. The tears doesn't stop, blurring out the gruesome images of his brutally murdered uncle scattered in front of him, dozens of apologies and words of denial spewing out of from his mouth. He had kept his distance from his uncle to keep him safe, but now he thinks he could have protected him better if he had stayed, could have had more time with him even. If only he could turn back time, to fix all the mistakes he had done - but he can't.

The deed was done.

They had officially taken everything from him.

Jongin's hands clenched into fist, remorse and sadness turning into pure hatred, burning and scalding in his chest. He gets up from the floor and storms inside the apartment, dead set on ending this vicious cycle once and for all, preparing everything he will need. In his haste he stumbles and trips on the bedside table, but catches himself in time before he falls. His phone hits the ground though, inevitably cracking the screen as the screen comes to life. A familiar face he's grown to love flashes across the screen and he thinks that no, they weren't able to take everything just yet, but he won't stand back and wait for them to do it.

There's no more hiding.

He _will_ protect Kyungsoo if it's the last thing he do.

===============

The place is quiet, the silence defeaning as it echoes through the long hallway. He had memorized the place well, each route and exit engraved in his mind like the back of his hand. His fingers are itching to reach for the rifle snug on the back of his waistband, to end all of this once and for all. But he knows he needs to be careful. A man like that have an army ready to protect him and one wrong move would mean more danger. He had waited for this day for years, and a few more hours wouldn't hurt. To be careful is to be safe.

Jongin pulls the silencer from one of his pockets, aims carefully at the spotted guards just beyond the corner of the hallway. There were two shots straight to the heart and he continues forward. He keeps his movements smooth and clear. In and out - it was his plan. The longer he stays and waits, the more he's at risk of being found. Being lithe and flexible helps him worm his way through rooms too, effectively evading a few guards doing their rounds of the place. All he needed to do is reach the head henchman's room, anyway. He doesn't need to wipe all the guards down, too. A small miscalculation gives him away though, the clanking of the tray of a single flower vase echoing through the place, effectively giving away his position. Jongin curses before he bolts, a swarm of mafias right by his tail.

Shots were fired like fireworks, punches thrown in a blur. Jongin couldn't remember half of what he's doing anymore, his body and muscles going numb at how much energy he's already exerted. The cuts weren't too deep, and he's thankful he had avoided those gunshots just in time. His legs hurt, and his shoulder felt a little dislocated so he quickly puts it back in place, the bones popping as it snaps into place, a pained hiss slipping padt his lips. His clothes are ripped, the place ransacked and his eyes flashes a dangerous red when he sees his target's room empty.

The man had ran away.

_Bastard_

There's a beeping that resounds in the silence, Jongin breathes and pulls out his phone, answering the call.

"Such a fool," the man says, laughing hysterically at the other line. There's a slight movement from Jongin's left and he doesn't even blink as he aims his gun and fires. "You're never going to get me where you want me to be." This time, it's Jongin who laughs. It was merely a chuckle, but it was enough to silence the man on the other line.

"Oh, contraire," Jongin says, pulling out a small remote from his pocket. Taking the easiest way out of a dangerous situation is one of humanity's inevitable mistake to be made. It wasn't hard to plant a bomb underneath those cars in their spacious little garage. The button blinks red, an indication of an active bomb ready to be set off. Jongin takes a shaky, deep breath, a single tear rolling down his cheek. "You're exactly where I want you to be."

The sound that echoes through the speaker is enough for Jongin to recoil, pulling back a little as the line goes erratic and static starts to ring. Jongin ends the call, physically and mentally exhausted.

_Finally_

Jongin sighs, allowing all the pent up emotions to flow. For once, he's going to be just Jongin, the kid who was robbed of his family and childhood.

_I can breathe._

===============

"Kai?"

Kyungsoo sounded worried, frantic even, but it's still enough to calm him, the corners of his lips tugging into a small smile.

"I'm sorry,"

Silence.

"At least tell me what's going on?" Jongin's smile widens just a little more. "I don't want to get you into more trouble by saying something I'm not auppoaed to," Kyungsoo continues and it was obvious how much Jongin doesn't deserve him. He's too kind, too good to be associated with someone like him. Kyungsoo deserved someone better, someone not Jongin.

"Tell them you don't know me at all," Jongin replies, regret seeping through his gut. He wonders how everything would be if their circumstances had been different. Will things be easier? He doubts it. The time on the payphone ticks down and he mentally sighs. He's the one who called Kyungsoo's phone, just moments after hearing word of the other being taken to the precint for questions. His single picture on Kyungsoo's phone had made him suspicious of possibly being related to an anonymous hitman. The deputy probably took a coffee break or something, which gives him enough time to answer simple questions. "One minute."

"Your name isn't Kai, is it?"

Jongin always knew Kyungsoo was smart. He feels bad about answering important questions like this through a phone call, but it's okay. He isn't going to hide from Kyungsoo anymore. There's no reason to.

"It's Jongin," his lips twitches, the word felt foreign on his tongue. "Kim Jongin."

"Why?"

"To look for the person who killed my family."

Silence.

"Thirty seconds."

Jongin knew Kyungsoo was biting his lip. His own hand twitches. He had always find this habit of Kyungsoo to be endearing.

"Twenty seconds."

"Will I see my little Robin again soon?"

Jongin hears some rustling from the other line and he knew their time is up. "Leave your window open," he replies simply before ending the call with two seconds to spare. They're going to have all the time in the world to sort all this out, anyway.


End file.
